


Conspiracy Theories

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Outsider, post s4 before s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George's observations lead to mayhem.<br/>Written for leaves_girl, for the fandomaid fundraiser in aid of the Philippines in the wake of Typhoon Haiyan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conspiracy Theories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leaves_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaves_girl/gifts).



> (i) Dear leaves_girl, I tried to mash up your prompt about concpiracy theories and characters being wrong about Merlin's intent with a George POV. I hope you enjoy the result, if not I'll write you something else, no problem.
> 
> (ii) My thanks go to the lovely and kind archaeologist_d for betaing this.

“We're short staffed, George,” Botolf said, handing him a stack of laundry. “You need to take this up to the King's quarters.”

“I will be honoured and delighted,” George said. He hadn't had such an exalted task to accomplish ever since the King had dismissed him in favour of his previous – inferior – and now current again manservant. “This duty will be seen to with the utmost speed.” 

“Just get the King his linens, George,” Botolf said with a clack of the tongue. “And make sure that you're in and out, that you don't barge in on the King's privacy. He's got important state matters to attend to and we're under general orders not to disturb him.”

Wanting to make clear he was the best of professionals, George said, “Rest assured that I won't.His majesty won't even know I was there. I'll be like a phantom, gliding unseen--”

George was summarily cut off. “Just go do your job,” Botolf said curtly and completely rudely. 

Before George could politely point out that Botolf's wasn't the best managerial manner, the man himself had disappeared in the wake one of the castle's maids.

George sighed. “Inefficiency reigns supreme here, alas.” 

Since there was no one to lend an ear to his ruminations about the skilfulness of the castle's staff, George got himself upstairs. Holding his precious burden of royal linens aloft, he made it to the top floor where the King's chambers were located.

It had been awhile since George last frequented this hallowed corridor, but it hadn't changed much. The stained glass windows still threw light shining in beautiful colours along the tiles, forming patterns George would have stayed to admire if he hadn't been on a mission to serve his monarch. The seat in the window alcove was still crumbling, leaving a kind of gravelly dust in the embrasure that George almost felt compelled to sweep away with a broom. And the armour standing at the end of the corridor still looked like a guardian, defending the royal suit of rooms.

Shifting his burden, George extended his fist to knock on the King's door. By doing so, however, he found out that the door wasn't quite closed. A gap allowed a view of a segment of the room. George could see nothing, or rather only the leg of a rather ornate chest and a ray of sunlight that split the room in two. 

But that didn't mean that the chamber was empty. George could, in fact, hear voices, two of them, both male and both known to him. The first voice belonged to their august Majesty and the other was without a doubt that scapegrace Merlin's.

George's plan, entailing he remain unseen during his delivery, was undone. He couldn't go in as he had anticipated. He was being foiled, thwarted by the King's presence in his very rooms. George couldn't allow this to happen. He had to complete his mission.

Perhaps if he listened for a minute or two, he could find out when the King would absent himself. Once George learnt that, he could cook up a new plan, come back later and finish his job. And then he would be awarded the laurel of best servant in Camelot ever - unlike that idiot Merlin. Merlin couldn't even differentiate among the various types of brass and brash polish needed to give any kind of metal an enduring shine. Worse, Merlin didn't even understand the importance of polishing. All the brass fixtures in the royal chambers had turned to a dull hue.

Still, the priority was learning the King would vacate his rooms. Regretfully, George cast all thought of polishing aside and set in to listen.

“No, I'm not reading that out loud,” the King said, without the full gravity of majesty but with a note of slight displeasure in his tone.

Despite how discourteous this was, especially in the presence of royalty, Merlin chuckled, and had the cheek to say, “Then write your speeches yourself, Sire.”

George wasn't sure that was the way the word 'sire' should be pronounced at all. The utterance should hold much more reverence than Merlin had given it.

“But this is such a load of bullshit,” the King said. “I don't really like basketry competitions that much. They're dull.”

“It's not about the competition itself,” Merlin said, his hole-ridden socked foot coming into view. “It's about giving a boost to Camelot's arts and crafts associations.”

George clearly remembered seeing placards announcing the competition but since he had little interest in hobbies not pertaining to butlering, George hadn't paid any mind to it. But what really caught his attention was Merlin. Why was Merlin only wearing socks? Granted his boots were disgraceful, the soles re-glued and often muddy, but going nearly barefoot wasn't an option either, especially when performing one's duty.

George resolved to clear up that mystery by observing Merlin's actions.

“But isn't the competition enough?” In a long suffering tone, His Royal Highness said, “I mean they're going to have a fair and an awards show. And the winner goes home with a money prize. Why should I even make speeches or attend? It's plain boring.”

“Don't be such a child, Arthur,” Merlin said with more sweetness than the words implied. “They want to see their king, whom they love for some reason, take an interest.”

King Arthur didn't shout Merlin down for that careless, treasonous remark. Rather he strolled across the room, biting onto an apple as he went. Naked. 

The fact that the King was discussing state matters – albeit minor ones – in the nude was totally disconcerting to George.

While the King slept shirtless during George's brief tenure as his manservant, he had never promenaded sans clothes. George had certainly never seen any kingly appendages limply dangling between his legs as he was doing now. George couldn't understand why Merlin was granted such a privilege. It made little sense.

However illogical this was, His Royal Highness sat himself in a high straight backed chair and picked up a goblet, his feet sinking in the fur on the carpet spread under it.

After a sip, King Arthur said, “That's because I'm an excellent monarch, a mighty warrior and a charismatic leader.”

Merlin chuckled and crossed over, thus moving fully into George's field of vision. He was wearing loose trousers, not the maroon pair he usually had on, but rather the kind of bottoms one would use as nightwear, and nothing else. Well, if you excluded the socks that is... because those were firmly on.

Without warning, Merlin straddled the King and kissed him on the lips.

At that George nearly jumped out of his skin. He might not be very experienced – finding a partner with the same interests as him was hard – but he was certain that was a lovers' kiss and not a chaste salute.

The King's hands came to rest on Merlin's waist and at the small of his back, his fingers grappling for purchase and slipping under Merlin's waistband. For a few heartbeats, the fleshy sound of lips on lips was all that could be heard.

And what an outrageous sound that was. His Majesty was shamelessly indulging himself in daylight hours and with the door half open, something he shouldn't be doing it at all. Not with Merlin for certain. King Arthur was a married man and though his choice of wife was objectionable since no good servant should ever aspire to raise their eyes to the scion of a ruler, she was now Queen, and as such, ought to be respected. What was going on now, those slow kisses that went from mouth to neck, the passionate caressing, was an act of marital infidelity.

It was lewd and wrong and entirely Merlin's fault. No royal could, of course, be blamed.

It was also very upsetting to George on a personal level. After the maid becoming queen débâcle, this new event shook George's world view entirely. That visual of His Majesty's hand grasping Merlin's left buttock had done it.

George dropped his laundry load to cover his mouth with his hand.

He closed his eyes but sound still travelled.

“Just pop in, read that speech and make them happy, prat.”

Soft moans echoed from echoed out the door and into the hallway.

George fled.

***** 

 

George bolted all the way to a place he seldom frequented, The Rising Sun. Elbowing past coarse, disgruntled patrons who smelled of alcohol and bad intentions, George made his way to the bar. “A pint of mead!”

The host turned his lips down at George, but filled a tankard for him nonetheless, one that brimmed over at the rim with foam.

Fighting his natural distaste for alcoholic beverages that clouded his judgement, George hefted the tankard and gulped down half its contents.

After having wiped at his mouth and chin, George put the tankard down. He didn't feel much different. His skin tingled a little, but the memory of what he had witnessed, the secret he must from now on forever keep, loomed large in his memory.

Something had to be done to wipe the slate clean. George drank the rest of his tankard. Mildly buzzed, he ordered another and another, until he didn't need to because the other patrons started to buy his drinks for him. George thought that very, very polite.

“I want to see if he drinks himself under the table,” someone standing to George's right said.

Another voice floated over, sounding louder than it had any right to be, “Isn't that a bit mean?”

“Nah,” the first man said, clapping George on the back, “he's not the nicest chap in the universe. I worked in the palace under him, I should know.”

George grinned. He felt he needed to since these people were being so polite to him, buying him mead. They even steadied him when the floor inadvertently tilted.

“He works in the palace?” someone from the corner asked, the voice wafting over and sounding disembodied. 

The back patter said “Yes, he was briefly the King's manservant when, Merlin, you know the one the King doesn't go without, was off ill or some such.”

George wanted to say that Merlin hadn't been ill, but just missing because he was a terrible, terrible manservant, especially when compared to George's own proficiency, but he wasn't sure his delivery was clear.

The person in the corner stood, their cloak rippling in waves of red and brown, features hidden in a swirl of fabric folds. Still, they moved over, cloak trailing after, and sat at the same table as George. 

George smiled. He was feeling very welcoming and merry. The world was everybody's oyster and why shouldn't he smile? “Hello,” he said.

The new comer pulled the hood of their cloak back. Tight red ringlets fell out of it, contouring sharp elfin features. Beautiful green eyes that for a moment seemed to flicker gold – surely a trick of the light – latched on him. “Hello.”

George gulped. The woman in front of him was beautiful. Her grace shone in the tilt of her head and the cut of her features. “I'm George,” he said, stutteringly, hesitantly.

“Yes, I heard,” the woman said. “I'm Melusine.”

Her bracelets, one of them a snake one, jingled as she shook his hand.

“Most pleased, my lady,” George breathed out.

Melusine tilted her head, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I am not a noblewoman.”

“I was sure you must be,” said George in a bit of a slur. “You are so beautiful and your clothes are so refined that I couldn't help compare you to my noble patrons.”

“Oh yes,” Melusine said. “You serve the King.”

“Used to,” George said, wishing he had some water so the room would stop wobbling around him. “For a few days. Before...” The corners of his mouth felt so heavy he was sure they must be drooping. “Before Merlin returned.”

“Merlin you say,” Melusine said, George's nemesis name almost sweet on her lips. “You spoke of him before..”

George’s tongue clove to his mouth. “I shouldn't speak of him.”

Melusine said, “I understand. Your professional reserve is commendable.” She lifted an arm. “Mine host, more mead for my lovely friend.”

Instead of telling her to sod off, which was what he generally did when peremptorily summoned, the hostler brought over a second, tall tankard of mead. Before setting it on the table, he even wiped its surface. “Madam,” he said, observing the lady with a rapt expression, “here's your order.”

“Thank you.”

The man simpered and then walked away backwards, still facing their table until he bumped into a barrel that had been propped against the counter. From that point on, he decided to walk in the direction he was facing, like a proper person. 

The lady's attention returned to George. 

George felt heat spread across his cheeks. He couldn't tell whether it was the mead or the lady's regard that was responsible. “I don't know how to thank you for your kindness.”

“Just drink to my health,” Melusine said.

Though George probably shouldn't have, what with the odd angles the room was gyrating at, he decided that the lady shouldn't be contradicted, the more so since she'd been so kind to him. George chugged down a suitable quantity of mead and though his lips came away wet he didn't wipe his hand across them, as he felt an urge to do. “That was excellent,” he said instead, wanting to show how grateful he was.

“Did you really appreciate my gesture?” Melusine asked, her eyebrow climbing. “Because you finished the mead you ordered but not the one I did.”

George could see how the beautiful lady could have taken his behaviour amiss. He didn't want to be outclassed with the likes of Merlin, who as hearsay had it, regularly got soused, and that was the reason why he hadn't touched more of the alcohol, but Melusine couldn't know that. “Your gesture was dearly appreciated, madam,” George said, thrusting his chin out before downing the rest of the pint to show that it was indeed so.

After all of it had gone down, he took to feeling a bit floaty, but that wasn't a bad sensation.

“I'm glad.” Melusine watched him as George finished his mead. Then she said, “So you were mentioning the King and his manservant?”

“Oh, yes, our exalted King,” George said, finishing the sentence with a high pitched hiccup.

“And his manservant.” Melusine cocked her head. “Merlin, isn't it?”

“Oh, yes, Merlin.” George burped, and immediately afterwards covered his mouth with his hand, goggling in self disgust. “He's not a good servant.”

Melusine tilted her head, resting it in the cradle of her hand. “Are his skills so very important when he's trusted?”

“Oh, yes,” George hastened to say, spittle flying on the finishing S. “It's very important. Doing one's duty is the goal of a servant's life. We're trained from an early age to achieve perfection.”

“I see.”

George was on a roll. “We're trained to serve, to coddle our masters and to fulfil their every wish. It is a mission that comes with a code of conduct.” George remembered how his sense of honour and duty had been painfully jarred that day. Merlin's earlier actions hurt his sense of pride. Like George did, everybody should want to be perfect. George had attained that perfection. And Merlin's behaviour didn't conform to that pattern. “Why isn't Merlin striving to be perfect?” George continued aloud, waving his tankard this way and that. “That is what I don't get. Why isn't he? He was already so blessed with such a fantastic position. He should be trying to do his best.”

“I beg your pardon,” Melusine said. “I'm not sure I understand you.”

“Merlin's abused his position,” George said, sure he could confide in such a kind lady. 

A single frown line appeared on Melusine's unblemished skin. “How so?”

“He behaved indecently,” George blurted out. Moved by his own sense of indignation, his blood buzzing, he went on saying, “He corrupted our king.”

Melusine moved her chair closer to George's, his blood heating a fraction. “How is that even possible? A servant doesn't seem in a likely position to corrupt a king.”

George hiccuped. “But he is! He's corrupting our king with his wiles!”

“But how?”

“I'm afraid I shouldn't be too explicit,” George said. “Not before a lady.”

“I'm not a lady like any other,” Melusine said, the whispery quality of her tone causing a shiver up to chase George's spine.

“Still,” George said. His mother had taught him better manners. Ladies' ears shouldn't be poisoned with such talk! “It's not a proper subject matter.”

Melusine put a hand on his arm. “Please, do tell me.”

George felt a rush of blood to his head. His cheeks went hot, like coals. He babbled at first but then his voice steadied and he said more coherently, “Merlin is using his wiles to seduce the king.”

“Are you sure of this?” Melusine must be as disgusted by Merlin's actions as George was, for her tone was harsh and rich in sibilants.

“Yes, I...” George stuttered, images of His Majesty and Merlin indulging in intimacies replaying in his mind. “I saw them, the King was... the King was naked.”

Melusine seemed to relax. “I'm sure servants do on occasion see their masters naked.”

“But then what was Merlin doing only half dressed, kissing the King while sitting in his, well, lap!” Vulgarity was sometimes needed to get one's point across.

“I see,” Melusine said, her eyes once again catching fire and shining beautifully amber. “Merlin has indeed abused his position.”

“Taking advantage of His Royal Majesty, using the trust a master puts in his manservant to... to...” George blushed, hesitating to define what he thought Merlin was getting out of his seduction spiel. 

“You were right.” Melusine clamped a hand around George's wrist. “This shouldn't be happening. That isn't what someone like Merlin should be doing.”

“Too right, isn't it?” George bemoaned. “He should never dare to even touch the King unless for reasons pertaining to his duties, but, but, but.” Once again George floundered, lacking the words to express his indignation.

“Yes.” Fingers dug into George's skin. “And for that reason you must promise me to tell me more...”

“Well, fortunately,” George said, wincing when nails cut skin, “I didn't stay long enough to watch the, er, situation devolve.”

“In that case you must promise me you'll find out more about this situation.”

“I don't see how I can,” George said, not keen on witnessing more snogging between King and manservant.

“You're in a prime position to,” Melusine pointed out, her grip painful now. “And you must promise to meet me in the Darkling Woods, the day after tomorrow, with more news.”

For some reason George felt the compulsion to agree though he wasn't in a hurry to spy on His Royal Highness and Merlin's effusions, and though he didn't think such a rendezvous very wise.

Melusine's hold lightened. “That is well. Good.” She uncoiled. “And now, my friend, let's celebrate our new-found alliance.”

George's misgivings were drowned in ale to the point he wasn't sure why he'd had any in the first place. 

The evening got much more fun afterwards, with people including George in their chatter. This happened much more than it ever had before. Music played and there were more rounds. It was a great evening. The only downers were the slight sea-sickness George experienced every time the room moved and the absence of Melusine. George looked and looked, obviously, even though the glare from the lights hurt his eyes, but he could no more find Melusine in the crowd of which she had been the brightest ornament than he could find a needle in a haystack.

At last George settled for perching on a stool and hugging a tankard. When he slid off it, he wasn't too bothered, he just closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself.

He knew nothing more.

 

***** 

 

George woke to a pounding headache. He slowly sat up, vaguely aware that he was in a bed, though for a moment he had no idea whose bed it was. He later realised he was in the servants quarters, his stomach roiling, his body weak and drained. He tried to move, to start his day according to his usual ritual, but an intense throbbing that flourished behind his eyes wouldn't let him move. Darkness surrounded him again. He made a feeble noise, something that would have been a groan had he the energy for it, and pressed his cheek against the cold linens 

Their chill helped with the nausea. So George lay there, sweating, afraid to move lest his stomach heave again. He only opened his eyes some time later when he no longer felt about to vomit. This was when he established that he was alone in the communal servants quarters, blanket wrapped around him. He shifted under the prickly wool quilt spread across his chest. 

Paper crackled under him. George fumbled and his fingers closed around parchment. Blinking, George unrolled the little scroll that had been left in his bed.

REMEMBER OUR AGREEMENT. WE SHALL MEET IN THE DARKLING WOODS TOMORROW AT THE CONVENED HOUR.

The note was ominous and required consideration. Though George didn't believe himself capable of rational thought, not after the night he had had, he did his best to come up with a clear plan of action. The kind lady from the night before clearly wanted a rendezvous with him. George didn't know why, though for a brief moment he believed that she must like him and wanted thus to see him again. Though the lady looked like a noblewoman, she had assured him she wasn't. Thus meeting her would be no breach in protocol. George would be free to court a commoner.

Besides, she might need succour and denying her a chance to meet would be cruel.

George reached what looked to him like a perfectly rational conclusion. He would see her. His quandary was happily resolved.

After he went to Gaius for a remedy against headaches, which the physician called a result of his hangover, George started his daily duties. Towards the early afternoon the symptoms of George's malady dissolved and the tasks he was assigned became easier.

It was only towards evening however, that George found some time for himself. In view of his meeting with Melusine, George bathed, changed shirts and gulped down some of Gaius' tincture.

When George arrived at the meeting point, he felt better than he had all day. The dying sun's last rays slanted against the top of the trees, a halo circling them, luminous and bright. The forest was silent. It held its breath. Not even George's footfall broke its spell of quietness. George had never been in a place like this, so calm and beautiful.

It was with a frisson of estrangement that he entered the confines of the clearing the Lady Melusine had invited him to.

"Well met, George," she said, her cloak lifting as she raised her arm in salute.

George was so impressed he fell back on habit and said, "My lady."

Melusine tilted her head in recognition. "I am glad you obeyed my summons."

"I was wondering what it was for," George said with more candour than he would have allowed himself if he hadn't suffered from the ill effects of too much alcohol.

"You are in a unique position," Melusine answered, leaving George more confused than before.

"I am sorry," George said, "I'm not sure I follow your reasoning."

"You are a servant of Camelot, your comings and goings will go unobserved--"

George had a bad feeling about this. This was how servants were tricked into betraying the court. "I will never do anything that will harm my superiors."

"Your actions might well save Camelot as well as many innocents."

"I beg your pardon, my lady," George said, bowing the slightest little bit. "But I fail to see how that can come to pass."

"You will see," Melusine said, but she neither explained nor did anything much, which confused George as to her intentions’.

George arched an eyebrow. It was a subtle technique many seasoned servants used to alert their superiors to a failure to understand the details of any given order.

"The future of Camelot might depend on the trustworthiness of one of its subjects," Melusine said. "And you can help me find out whether this person is abusing their powers or not."

This made more sense, George wagered. He was still in the dark as to the identity of this potential traitor however. "Who?"

"Emrys," Melusine said.

"Who?" George was sure there was nobody in Camelot going by that name.

"Merlin," Melusine said, clarifying.

George could see why Melusine would distrust Merlin. He had to ask though. "Why Merlin?"

"Because Merlin has betrayed his kind," Melusine said.

"I do admit he is a truly appalling servant," George said, "but to be completely honest while Merlin's escapades are highly reprehensible, I wouldn't go as far as to say he's a traitor. I am sure that when the King finds his wisdom again--" George had heard that certain men, most unlike himself, did think with their members. He also heard that when the distraction was removed, these men went back to thinking rationally. This meant that when the King saw how culpable Merlin was for having waylaid him into a base and scandalous relationship, he would dismiss Merlin and find him another lowlier occupation. "While I do agree that an example must be made of Merlin lest other servants choose to step out of the boundaries of their stations, I do not think--"

"Enough," Melusine said. "You cannot understand the nature of the crimes committed, how they underscore Merlin's willingness to befoul his destiny."

"Uhm," George was at a loss for words.

"Our kind," Melusine said, almost to herself, "cannot produce another traitor, another rotten apple. Otherwise no one will believe in our good intentions."

"You mean servants."

Melusine huffed and looked away. "I--" She paused and searched the folds of her cloak. Her hands disappeared inside it, waves of red briefly eclipsing them, before they reappeared. She was holding a pouch tied at the top with a black ribbon. She passed the object into George's unwilling hands. "I want you to give this to Merlin as soon as you encounter him. It is vital that you do not open this sachet. You must simply deliver it."

George asked, "What's inside?"

"That shouldn't concern you," Melusine said, as prickly as any noblewoman would be if someone questioned her authority. "Just see to it that you complete this task."

"I am a servant of Camelot," George said, drawing himself up. "I cannot do anything that wouldn't be sanctioned by my King."

Melusine's hand closed around George. "In doing my bidding you wouldn’t be betraying your duties. Once the spell is broken, the King will be grateful to you and more prone to listen to me."

George didn't think special pouches that had mysterious contents were required to convince His Royal Highness of the folly of his ways and to break him out of his sexual haze. He would see reason eventually, once the sex stopped being a novelty. But George couldn't impart this piece of wisdom to the lady facing him. It seemed rather too crass. "I will do as you say if you assure me that this mission isn't meant to endanger the King."

"I guarantee you that it won't put King Arthur in any peril."

"In which case, my lady," George said, pressing the pouch to his chest. "I will do as you say."

"Good," Melusine said. Fogs rose and enshrouded her. "See that you do then."

George’s eyes tried to pierce the fog, but with little success. When it lifted, he saw that he was alone in the clearing. He returned to the castle alone.

**** 

Melusine entered the sylvan hut. She pushed at the web of magic that warded the door and then opened it, ducking to avoid the strings of herbs hanging from the rafters.

"Melusine," Amairgen said, "you are late."

"The man had questions that needed to be answered before he agreed to do our bidding," Melusine said, taking off her cloak and tossing it on her bunk. "I thought it wise to satisfy some of his curiosity so that he wouldn’t ask more important questions.”

Amairgen rose, his Druidic robes shimmering as he moved. "I would ask you the same questions the man asked."

“You know of my plan," Melusine said, her shoulders narrowing in instinctive self defence. The druids were good at sussing out secrets and she wasn’t ready to share. 

Amairgen shook his head. "Last I heard, the plan was monitoring Emrys so that we could give him a shove in the right direction when needed."

"The plan changed," Melusine said, busying herself by snapping off herb stems for a potion. 

"To involve a servant we know nothing of!"

"You heard what he had to say," Melusine said, pestling the herbs to within an inch of their life. 

"Yes," Amairgen said solemnly. "Servants’ chit chat."

The herbs pounded to a pulp, Melusine added a second sprinkling of them to the pestle, without a care for quantities. "That man has no imagination and little soul. There is no way someone like him invented that story."

Amairgen turned with a swish of robes. He threw his head back and placed his hands on his hips. "Perhaps he is jealous of Emrys' position at Pendragon's side. Perhaps his sexual thirst has led him to fantasise about his colleague and a nobleman thrown together."

"I don't think so," said Melusine, confident in her judgement of pedantic George. “The man has no imaginative bone in his body. His testimony was surely faithful. Emrys lies with the King."

"That is a private matter," Amairgen said, "and not something that goes against the Emrys prophecy."

"He is using sex and a spell to keep the King in his thrall,'" Melusine said, louder than she ought. Tossing the pestle down, it bounced off the table and rolled onto the floor, leaving behind a greenish paste trail that smelled of the woods. "He is doing this to make of the king a puppet whose strings he can pull. And once Pendragon is completely in his power, Emrys will become a tyrant magical overlord. Like Sigan."

Amairgen shook his head. “We can't be certain.”

"It is our duty to stop him!" Melusine said. "Another evil sorcerer will only cause magic to be implicitly mistrusted for centuries to come."

"And you think that that is Emrys?" Amairgen asked, ihis tone of someone wasn’t asking a question but already disputing the answer he would get. 

Yes," Melusine said. "I know so."

"And what are you planning to do about this?"

"I gave George the Key to the Realm."

Amairgen frowned. "To give it to Emrys?"

"Yes, of course. He has overstepped boundaries, forming evil designs on King Arthur."

"A man who has in turn evil designs on magic," Amairgen said. "Who has, so far, shown no pity towards magic users."

"But it is said that he will bring about the golden age of Camelot."

"As it is said that Emrys will help him do it." Amairgen sneered. "Yet how can he achieve all of this, if you condemn him to a demi world of darkness?"

"Well, he is certainly not thinking of his fellow sorcerers when he beds the king against his will."

"And how do we know that it is so?" Amairgen asked. "How can we tell that it's not willingly that King Arthur gave himself to Merlin?"

"The man has a wife he dotes upon," Melusine said, recounting what was a well known fact. They had needed little data gathering to establish this truth. The whole of the Camelot populace was firm in the belief that their King loved their lady Queen very much indeed. "He renounced lands and aggrandisement for her. Why would he, if he didn’t love her?"

"I am not questioning the Pendragon king's devotion to his wife," Amairgen said. "I am questioning his purported lack of love for Emrys."

"And you'd be a fool." Melusine shook her head, curls bouncing. "It is as clear as day. Emrys is a power hungry megalomaniac dead set on ruining the Pendragon dynasty."

"Or maybe their fabled fate led them to a path that threw them together in more ways than one," Amairgen suggested with more vehemence than was customary. "Maybe more than their destinies are entwined."

"Oh now, you're bandying about the words of a dotard of a dragon."

"One who knows Emrys well and can judge him."

"One who is subject to Emrys and in his thrall too, like Pendragon." She didn't understand why Amairgen chose to ignore such well known facts. Emrys wasn't only the most powerful sorcerer to have ever been begotten; he was also the last dragonlord. That made the opinion of the last dragon an extremely biased one. "Since we're still our own masters and in duty bound to protect magic, we must act before we too are bent to Emrys' nefarious will."

Amairgen crossed his arms, his lips pushed out in a pout. "You will do so without me."

"But act I shall."

"Heaven forfend," Amairgen muttered, though he didn't do anything to stop Melusine. She was left free to do what she will. 

 

*****

During the performance of his duties, several times George regarded the pouch he was to give Merlin. He turned it in his palm, weighed it, and bounced it on his knees. Then he stashed the pouch back in his pocket. He didn't manage to keep it there for longer than a few minutes at a time.

Then he'd take it out again. It didn't matter that he'd told himself he would see to his palace duties first and that he would only deliver it after they had been completed. And it didn’t matter that he knew curiosity was wrong. The perfect servant was free of it. He just would touch that pouch, pull at the strings and fiddle with it. 

Enough.

He resolved to make his delivery. That way, temptation would be held at bay. George knocked on the steward's door. Though Merlin himself was the highest ranking servant in all of the palace, the steward was the one who administered and set the duty rosters for the body of servants inhabiting the castle.

After the first rasp of his knuckles against the door frame had gone unheeded, George tried another knock.

At this, the door was flung open to reveal the steward. He was particularly red faced today, his rather fat hands wrapped around a mug of something that smelled very much like cider. "Yes," he thundered upon seeing George, "what do you want, you snivelling boot-licker? I have no more duties to assign you that will make you shine before the King's eyes. Come again when there's a feast and we're short staffed."

George politely cleared his throat. "I was wondering, sir," George asked, "whether I could ask for an hour off to run a personal errand.”

The steward looked left and right, then waved his hand at the air in front of George. "You look like George and your voice sounds just like his, but I swear to God you can't be George, because that fellow would never beg off his duties.”

George had a hard time concealing his impatience. His eye roll was carefully reduced to a minimum. "And yet, sir, I was wondering whether I could get off earlier."

After some copious amount of squinting, the steward finally said, "Okay, all right, I don't see why I should refuse you, since you've never asked for this liberty before."

"Thank you, sir."

"And perhaps this way you'll stop scaring the other servants into thinking they should work themselves into an early grave.."

George inclined his head at that. While he knew slackers disapproved of his attitude towards work because it shed a bad light on them, he never thought that they saw him in such a way. "Well then," said George. "I'd better go." 

Finding Merlin wasn't as easy as George thought. George searched for him everywhere, from the laundry room, to the stables where Merlin often lingered for a chat with Tyr.

But Merlin wasn't in either place. A little bit put out but by no means ready to give up his quest for Merlin, George stopped one of the maids and enquired after the King's manservant. 

The girl, Elsa, made a confused face. "I do not know where Merlin is. Perhaps in the King's chambers."

Naturally the poor girl believed that Merlin was to be found there because he was doing his duty. But unfortunately George didn't believe Merlin would be there for such a pure reason now. "Thank you, Elsa," George said, "you've been very kind."

Elsa nodded, snorted, nodded again and set off saying, "The Queen asked for a scented bath, so I must hurry and go gather some fragrant herbs in the forest. If you see Merlin, tell him thank you for his suggestion. He used to be friends with the Queen and knows the scents she is most fond of."

George waved the girl off, appalled by the secrets he now was cognisant of. That poor Queen, though an upstart surely, the only consolation she now had was scented baths.

Armed with Elsa's information, George made for the King's chamber. Though he had no business there, he was confident he could invent an excuse as to why he was there if the occasion called for it. If His Royal Highness was in, he could say that the head cook had sent him. If Merlin was there, then George was on the right track. And should the King and Merlin be at it again, George would wait for Merlin to emerge and give him the gourd.

George waited outside the royal apartments but no one came out. The light washing in from the window progressively died and still there was no trace of Merlin. George advanced towards the door, raised his fist to knock, hesitated, then did finally rap his knuckles against the hard surface.

"Yes," His Highness said with some annoyance from the other side of the door. "Who's there?"

The door was flung open. An irate King appeared on the threshold. Thankfully, he was completely dressed this time and without Merlin, though the latter particular foiled George's plan. "It's me, sire," George said. "I am on an errand from...." George hesitated for fear of involving the wrong person in his plans. If word came back to them of this lie, George would be severely reprimanded. "The high steward wants a word with Merlin." The steward seemed to be the perfect person to mention on this occasion. One that had enough authority to make the summons important and in need to be obeyed. "Surely to tell him off about something."

His Royal Highness laughed, as though greatly amused. “Not even Merlin can have done something to be guilty of while with me. I'd have to suspect him of being ubiquitous, which I am sure he isn't."

How was George supposed to know where Merlin had spent the morning? "Is Merlin with you, then sire?"

The King stiffened, his chest poking out. "No, he isn't. You can go back to the steward and tell him that he has no business using his authority to importune me. As for Merlin, if he's done anything amiss, I'll talk to him about it, no interference required."

Oh so this was how it worked. Surely, Merlin had been spared the stocks plenty of times just because he was warming the King's bed. George had to admit it was a clever plan. Someone as unprofessional as Merlin could barely last three days without the His Majesty’s support, bought with illicit kisses. "I will report your words to the High Steward."

"Yes, George," the King said, "and remind the man that he may oversee the castle, but he has no authority over my manservant."

George bowed. "Yes, sire."

"Good." The door was then closed in George's face. As he tried to come up with another plan, George walked away, but he didn’t wander very far off. He sank down to sit cross legged on the floor, the royal chambers in sight. He didn't want to miss Merlin in case the man came back.

George sat there, having discarded many a plan to get to Merlin, when the door to the royal chambers opened again.

So as not to be seen, George hid behind a curtain.

His Majesty stalked down the corridor. He was wearing a cloak but not his Pendragon red one, rather some sort of hunting garment of a pale blue colour. This garment came with a hood that the King pulled up.

That alone was very suspicious. The fact that His Royal Highness appeared to be sneaking -- when a valet passed he hid behind a column in his own palace -- was even more so.

Though George had planned to stay put and lay in wait for Merlin, he set off to follow. He did so at a distance, ducking behind columns and diving for the shadows whenever the King stopped in his tracks. George followed him, past the gates, into the lower town and across a fallow field that was sheltered from view by a copse.

George wasn't much of a strategist but he did realise that this particular location would be perfect for secret assignments. No one in the castle would ever be able to see what was going on there. 

As His Royal Highness reached the spot he had sought out, George concealed himself behind a tree.

King Arthur said, "Merlin, you can come out."

"I wasn't hiding," Merlin said, walking up the slope. "I was coming back from an errand.'"

"In the forest?" the King deadpanned, making it clear that he hadn't known what Merlin had been doing, in spite of what must have been an agreed upon rendezvous. 

"Gaius will have his herbs for his poultices."

"Oh, so you put me off in favour of Gaius."

The moon shone right on Merlin's face, slanting across it and showing the softening of his smile. "Yes, those patients wanting to be cured, what a nuisance they are."

"If I was ill, would you go searching for antidotes with the same diligence?" His Majesty said, coming across as more serious than teasing though his tones were those of a joke.

By now Merlin had come up to the King. His eyes got as smaller, but shone brightly. He grabbed King Arthur by the folds of his cloak and pulled him to him. Thus close, the two kissed. The angle didn't allow George to establish what kind of kiss this was, but the fleshy sounds that came with it -- as well as previous experience -- told George everything he needed to know.

When Merlin pushed the cloak off His Majesty’s shoulders and patted it, indicating they lay down on it, George turned around and stopped his ears with the flat of his hands. In spite of this measure, the unmistakeable sound of sexual activity could be picked out.

"Love this spot," the King said, panting "That little hollow there on your neck. I love licking it."

"I was hoping you c-could lick something else," Merlin said with appalling directness.

Wet slurping sounds became audible.

But for his mission, George would have hied himself elsewhere. Alas, he had to suffer through Merlin's muffled shouts.

The King said, "Hush, they'll hear you.”

George tried to ignore the His Majesty's escalating groans of completion, but he couldn't say he was always successful.

At last though George was rewarded for his patience. The noises coming from the clearing were those of cloth being rumpled, stretched and smoothed. Having dressed and undressed countless people as a manservant, George knew that well. He judged it safe to peek. His Highness and Merlin, both bare of torso, were in fact getting dressed again.

Before long they were both presentable. "I'll go back first," the King said. "I have a few words to exchange with the high steward."

"The high steward?" Merlin repeated, confused.

"Yes," King Arthur said, brushing off his sleeve. "Leave it to me."

His Majesty made to go, flinging back the material of his cape. George was about to slink out of his hiding place when the latter stopped in his tracks and turned around, stalking up to Merlin. Grabbing a huffing Merlin by the neck, he fit his lips to his lowly manservant’s in an open mouthed kiss. “See you tonight.”

Merlin made a mockery of a long suffering sigh. His hands cupping the King's face. “I'll turn your bed down, as usual.”

“We'll be on mission soon,” His Highness answered. “We'll share a bed then.”

“Yes,” Merlin said, bestowing one last kiss at the corner of the royal's mouth before shoving him off and telling him he'd better be going.

“And here I mistakenly thought you had some fondness for me,” His Majesty said, plainly playing at outrage. “And that you'd plead for me to stay.”

Voice broken by laughter, Merlin said, “Just go, clotpole.”

This time the King went. Once George was sure he had indeed gone, he jumped out of his hiding place and went over to Merlin. “Merlin,” he called out, “wait, I've been looking for you.”

Merlin was readjusting his neckerchief, now a little soiled with dirt, when he realised that George was calling to him. “George,” he said, craning his head, “what are you doing here and how did you know where to find me?”

“I, uh,” George said, not particularly skilful at lying on his feet. “I was told to look for you.” This was true enough, though it wasn't how Merlin imagined it. “And so I went looking. Considering you're never at your duties, I told myself you wouldn't be in the castle.”

Merlin made a noise that was part way spluttering, part way put upon grunt. Though he was red about the neck and face, he rolled his eyes. “I work hard, I'll have you know, though I don't have such a penchant for polishing as you.”

George was sure that that had been a disrespectful reply. If he had had any compunction in delivering the object the Lady Melusine had told him to, that went away the moment Merlin replied like he had. “No, I'm sure you don't. But that isn't important, is it?” George studied Merlin for a few long seconds. The man's guilty flush hadn't abated, but his little lopsided smile that George suspected was mocking hadn't disappeared. The gall of people! “I was told to give you this.”

Just as Merlin's hand wrapped around the object, two people appeared in the clearing. One was His Majesty, who said, “Merlin, I thought about it, and I--” and the other the Lady Melusine, who just emerged out of a thick fog.

The instant Merlin pulled on the pouch's strings a bright white light burst through the clearing, blinding George completely. Only the contours of shapes became visible, like dark pencil strokes on a blank page. Once the light had died down and George could see, he noticed that the clearing had been blasted dry, turning from green to a dry russet, leaves falling in carpets, apples dropping off branches. As for Merlin, he was... no longer there.

When His Majesty saw what had happened, he unsheathed his sword, and after a brief moment of wavering, he laid the tip at George's throat. “What did you just do to Merlin? Where is he?”

George could tell His Highness wasn't pleased with Merlin's disappearance. “Er,” George said, by way of clearing his throat. “I don't know.”

King Arthur readjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, fanning his fingers then tightening it again. “You don't know, do you? Yet I clearly saw you give him something, upon which he vanished. Pardon me if I don't believe you.”

“I just gave him a pouch.”

His Royal Highness grunted. The blade's pressure on George's throat intensified. “What was in it, sorcerer?”

George goggled. This was completely unbelievable. “I beg your pardon, Sire, but I'm no sorcerer.”

“Then how could you have caused Merlin to vanish?” the King said, pointing out a fallacy George was very keen to explain away, but had scarcely any means to.

“I most certainly didn't,” George said, outraged and a little bit afraid. That blade looked thoroughly keen. “I'm not responsible for what happened.”

His Majesty forewent the use of his sword and grabbed George by the collar of his tunic. “I swear if you hurt Merlin, if you've already hurt him--”

The rest of the threat didn't need to be spoken. It was fairly obvious that George wouldn't fare well if something had happened to Merlin. “I can't have possibly done anything...”

“He's no longer there,” the King said, his sword pointing to the spot Merlin had occupied.. His tone was closer to his normal one, but there was a coldness to it that made George shiver. “How do you explain that?”

“I can't rightly do so but...”

“I won't be lenient if something's happened to him,” His Highness said. “However incompetent Merlin is...” King Arthur's shoulders drooped. The words didn't come out and a light went out from his eyes, making him look sombre. “He is Merlin.” After having swallowed, he added. “My manservant.”

George was about to say something to save himself, when Melusine stepped in. “You miss your servant?” she asked.

King Arthur whirled sharply around, only now noticing her. “Who are you?” He held up his sword again. “And what part did you play in this?”

“I am Melusine,” she said, making no mystery of her identity. “And I'm responsible for Merlin's disappearance.”

“I command you to get him back,” King Arthur said, his jaw thrust out just like his sword. “I want him back.”

“Do you?” Melusine questioned.

His Majesty spluttered with rage and annoyance. “Of course, I want him back!”

“I thought you didn't,” Melusine reflected, tapping her lip. “I was so sure that with him gone you would no longer feel the way you did.”

“Why would you think that?” His Highness asked. 

“I thought,” Melusine began, “that perhaps your relationship with your manservant was forced.”

“My relationship...” King Arthur repeated, as though unable to make sense of the words.

“I did see you, Sire,” said George in defence of the Lady. He probably oughtn't, because whatever kings did had to stay wrapped in silence, but he felt like it was the chivalrous thing to do. “With Merlin...”

His Majesty’s eyes narrowed. “And you thought...”

“That seeing as you have a lovely Queen and a position not to be risked,” Melusine said, voicing thoughts that George couldn't, “that he had somehow forced you.”

“My wife knows and is happy with the situation as it stands,” King Arthur said tersely, clearly not ready to get further into this. “And how could Merlin possibly have forced me? When he first came to me, he was a peasant boy. I'm the one to bear all burdens of guilt if there are any to be attributed.”

Melusine's facial muscles twitched. “I was sure that he had used foul means, but since you seem to be free of any thrall—”

Someone stepped out from the foliage. It was a tall, reedy man with a beak of a nose and arms like the limbs of a scarecrow. A line of creepers stuck to his robe like a necklace. “Because, my lord,” the man said with a bow, “my friend made a mistake.”

“And who would you be?” said the King, his hold on his sword morphing again. He was clearly preparing for a fight.

“A poor druid,” the new arrival said, “who goes by the name Amairgen.”

“A druid?” King Arthur asked with suspicion. “Have you used magic to harm my manservant?”

A look passed between the lady Melusine and the druid Amairgen. “I have no magic,” he said. “I belong to a sect of people devoted to the contemplation of ancient scriptures that deal with magic and the coming of a liberator called Emrys.”

His Highness stalked up to Amairgen and said, “Does this have anything to do with Merlin? Is he even alive?”

“He lives,” Amairgen said, sounding very vague even to George's ears. 

He got a nod from Melusine, who added, “I used an artefact that is generally employed to punish wayward ma-- people, people who betray the laws of society. They can take different forms, like the stone that was used to entrap Cornelius Sigan in his day.”

“I don't care about Sigan,” King Arthur said with a grunt as he addressed Melusine. “I don't care about your chatter. Get Merlin back or you'll suffer the justice of Camelot.”

“Answer this question first,” Melusine said, not looking one bit as intimidated as George felt, “and I will tell you what can be done.”

“You're playing with my patience, witch,” His Majesty answered. “But I'll answer your question as long as it is swiftly put.”

“Then do, Sire,” Melusine said majestically. “Do you feel towards Merlin the same way you did before he disappeared?”

Through gritted teeth King Arthur said, “For the love of all that is holy, I already told you, yes.”

“Then I was indeed mistaken in thinking foul play was involved,” Melusine said, bowing her head. “And I apologise.”

“I need to know what to do to get Merlin back,” the King pressed, his voice brooking no argument.

Melusine gave him a key that was hanging around her neck. “This is a key to the realm I sent Merlin to.”

The King made a grab for it, but his hand closed around nothing since Melusine had withheld it. “Beware, King Arthur, the Shadow World is a hard place to get your bearings in. Coming back won't be easy.” 

“Never mind that,” the King said, making a grab for the key. “It's up to me to succeed.”

“Are you truly willing to risk your life for a so--” Melusine started.

Amairgen interrupted her by saying, “Servant? Are you ready to make sacrifices to get him back?”

“I would for any man of mine that was in danger,” King Arthur said, head held high. “The more so for Merlin, who--” His Majesty dropped his eyes. “Who's been faithful and loyal to me for nearly ten years.”

“Have this key then,” Melusine said, sharing a look with Amairgen, “and go on this quest, King Arthur.”

His Highness got the key this time. “How do I use it?” 

“Just seek to open the door,” Melusine carefully instructed, “and you'll find the place you're looking for.”

His Majesty held the key as though he was about to thrust it into a lock, then turned it. Light seeped through cracks that formed in the air. With his foot, King Arthur booted the airy door, and currents shifted like a curtain parting. Another world appeared, wrapped up in a thick mist. At the corners, it was bathed in a blinding dawn-like light.

“That is the place, the world of shadows,” Amairgen said. “You'll find Merlin there.”

“I hope you're successful in your quest,” Melusine said, George guessed, ruefully. “If your feelings are true, and I've come to think they are, you'll find him.”

“Destiny will find its proper course again,” Amairgen said in a very loaded tone George failed to comprehend.

The King breathed sharply through his nostrils, set his jaw, nodded and stepped through the portal between worlds. As soon as he had, the window into that other world closed.

“Will he be fine?” George asked, suspicion biting at his heels. After all, these people had led him to think Merlin guilty of treasonous acts. How could he be sure they weren't tricking him now? “And how about Merlin?”

“The King's quest will be hard and perilous,” Amairgen said. “But it will succeed. As for Merlin, he's, let's say, skilled enough to survive till help comes.”

“I agree,” Melusine said.

“But what if he doesn't?” George spluttered, feeling as though they weren't grasping the situation fully. It was the King of Camelot who had gone missing here.

“Then we'll mount a rescue party,” Melusine said, taking Amairgen's hand. “We have the power to do so. In the meanwhile we'd better go. Once the emergency is over, King Arthur won't look kindly on us for having orchestrated this.”

“Yes,” Amairgen said to his companion, “I suppose he'll frown on this. Our theories were proved wrong...”

“You're being kind enough to say ours, Amairgen,” Melusine said, tipping her head to the side contemplatively, “but we both know those were mine.”

“You made the mistake of believing the worst of people,” Amairgen said, “and of our kind. In some cases, you aren't wrong, dear friend, but thankfully in this one you were. The future still offers hope.”

“I need to teach myself to believe in hope.”

“There were times I lost it too,” Amairgen said, squeezing the Lady Melusine's hand. “Shall we?” he then added. 

Melusine inclined her head.

And like that, they were gone. One minute they were there and the next they weren't.

“Oh, I see it now,” George said, alone in clearing, “with them gone, it'll all be on my head!”

 

***** 

George waited and waited. He paced, he twiddled his thumbs, he sat cross legged in the clearing and still His Majesty made no appearance. As the hours passed, George started thinking the worst had happened. The King had died in that shadow-land Melusine and Amairgen had sent him to. He wasn't coming back and George himself had had a hand in causing that.

His part in it would be discovered and Queen Guinevere would punish him for regicide. God, George was ruined.

He was pulling on his hair in despair, when a bright light illuminated the clearing and two figures, mud covered and completely indistinguishable, emerged.

The matter of identity was only cleared up when one of them said in haughty tones, “I told you to avoid the damned bog, Merlin, but you had to trip into it.”

“Pardon me for not bothering to think about the mud when I was running away from all those undead types.”

“There were sure to be some other way out,” King Arthur said, wiping at his face and clearing it of two half -moons of dirt right under his eyes. “If you'd been more patient...”

“We spent weeks in that wasteland!” Merlin said.

“Excuse me,” George put in, when he failed to understand what Merlin was saying, “but you were just gone a few hours.”

As it happened George shouldn't have taken part in that conversation, because that reminded His Royal Highness of his presence and his role in the events of the day. “You,” he said, pointing his fingers at George's nose, “are in trouble. We need to have a discussion about spying and eavesdropping.”

George gulped.

 

***** 

Merlin pushed the big double doors open, ushering George in the King's chamber before closing them again, leaving George alone with the King and Queen.

They were both seated at the table before the fireplace. The Queen was wearing her coronet, and a luscious gown of velvet that rippled richly at her feet. The King on the other hand was in his shirt sleeves. Despite this informality, the frown on his face and the cold expression on that of his Queen told George that this was being made to stand trial.

“I guess you know why you are here,” the Queen said.

“Because I waylaid Merlin.”

His Highness looked away while the Queen said, “It was worse than that and you know it.”

“I was protecting your Honour, my lady,” George said, because that had been part of his thought processes.

“You do me great wrong in thinking I can't protect my own honour,” Her Majesty said, “You did my husband wrong in thinking he would disrespect me and act behind my back and you did my friend Merlin great wrong in believing he would be party to that.”

“I was sure I had read things correctly,” George said, knowing full well it was a poor justification. He had always, always kept out of his employers' business and he didn't understand why he had violated his own vow now. 

“And that was your failing,” said the Queen, still stern but less harsh now. “You drew your conclusions without knowing the participants well, without being aware of my love for the King and Merlin, my happiness in them.”

George stared at his shoes. “Yes, my lady.”

“You understand that you will be punished,” His Highness said, his voice free of any intonation.

“Yes, sir,” George said. “I'll go into exile and--”

“You will let Merlin choose your punishment,” said the Queen, ringing a bell. “That seems only fair.”

The door opened again and Merlin strolled in, kneeling before the King and Queen, then kissing the latter, a strange kiss that almost touched the mouth. 

“Merlin,” Her Highness said then, holding both of his hands in hers. “The King and I have decided that you will be the one to settle on George's punishment.”

Merlin grinned at the Queen, and then winked at the King, who huffed, but nevertheless appeared extremely benevolent, or rather fond.

George knew he was done for. Here his bitterest enemy was, one who had reason to hold a grudge. He couldn’t see how Merlin could ever be merciful to him. “I apologise for what I did to you,” George said. “I should have put my qualms to my King first and never harboured any independent thought or free agency.”

Merlin went a bit cross-eyed at that. “I accept your apology.”

George gasped. “So I won't be punished?”

“Not quite.” Merlin crossed his arms and stuck his chest out. “You'll be my manservant for a week, at my back and call.”

George was truly punished.

 

**** 

 

As they crested the hill that led to the shore and the vessel that would take them away from Albion, Amairgen said, “Next time we'll nip all conspiracy theories in the bud.”

 

The End.


End file.
